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Wills Simple and Elaborate:

Bequests, Gifts, and Legacies

The will of Peregrine White, first child of the Plimoth Pilgrims, in which he stipulated his son maintain "one cow" for his wife.

In his will, George Washington styled himself a citizen of the United States and "lately President of the same."

Courts appointed trustworthy men to inventory the departed's earthly goods—as in this scene portrayed by Colonial Williamsburg's Warren Vaughn, left, and Ben Knecht. Basic information in reconstructing history, wills and inventories tell us what people owned and of what value.

Ken Wolfe with the Kirby silver collection in the DeWitt Wallace Decorative Arts Museum—more than 1,000 pieces of plate silver. Gifts that people leave Colonial Williamsburg in their wills support and enrich its mission of preserving and presenting colonial life.

James Bray of Williamsburg made bequests to his children and grandchildren, as well as "all my wearing Cloths" to Robert Wade.

James Bray's will.

After Bray's death in 1725, an inventory of his estate—down to his "chocolate & coffee plate"—was added to the end of his of will.

Bray's estate inventory.

Near the start of the eighteenth century,
on July 14, 1704, Peregrine White of
Marshfield, Massachusetts, the first child
born in America of the Pilgrims the century before,
"Being aged and under many Weaknesses and
Bodily Infirmities But of Sound disposing mind and
memory," signed his last will and testament. He was
eighty-three. First, he made sure to "Humbly commit
my Soul to Almighty God that Gave it and my
Body to decent Buriall." Next, he instructed his executors
to pay his debts and funeral expenses. Then,
he bequeathed to his "wellbeloved wife," Sarah, "all
my Goods and Chattels not otherways disposed of."
His son Daniel would come into "my Great table"
and "my Joynworke Bedstead and Cupboard." A
grandson got White's gun. Just before making his
mark at the bottom of his will, White left "each of my
...Daughters one painted chair and a cushion."

At the other end of the 1700s, in the summer of
1799, George Washington, identifying himself as "a
citizen of the United States, and lately President of
the same," wrote the same sorts of paragraphs. He
ordered his debts be paid and his "dearly beloved
wife" receive "the use, profit and benefit of my whole
Estate, real and personal, for the term of her natural
life," including "my household and kitchen furniture
of every sort and kind, with the liquors and groceries
which may be on hand at the time of my decease."

"Upon the decease of my wife," Washington
wrote, "it is my Will and desire, that all the slaves
which I hold in my own right, shall receive their
freedom." By those words, Washington, who died a
few months later, left behind not only his material
goods but an inheritance of liberty.

As the seventeenth century turned
into the eighteenth, attitudes toward wills
changed. Historian Holly Brewer said that in
the 1600s, "wills were more creative and less legally
formalized. Someone wrote down what someone else
said on his deathbed. It was conversational. In the
eighteenth century, it became more formal."

In 1711, Virginia adopted an act "directing the
manner of granting Probats of Wills, and Administration
of Intestates Estates." It delineated everything
from the oath to be taken by executors to what
happened to crops when their owner died before the
harvest. The law directed the plantings to be left in
the ground until December 25, then harvested and
appraised by the executors. The slaves required to
bring in the "Indian Corn, Wheat, or other Grain, or
Tobacco" were not to be delivered to the heirs until
Christmas Day.

In eighteenth-century Virginia, anyone over
twenty-one could compose a will—except for married
women. Unmarried and widowed females, however,
could designate who got their belongings; an example
is Susannah Riddell of Williamsburg, a Loyalist
widow who left slaves and a house when she died in
1785.

Dying people did more than designate who
would get their land and goods, Brewer said. They
sometimes left instructions to their children or
warned their heirs that "they would not get something
if they did something wrong, for example, marrying
the wrong person." In his 1813 will, John Tyler
of Virginia's Charles City County instructed his
sons to "ever be brotherly and affectionate to each
other." Louis XVI of France, guillotined in 1793, left
"my soul to God" and sought pardon from "all those
whom I have inadvertently offended." The will said:
"I recommend strongly to my children ...to remain
always united amongst each other; to be submissive
and obedient to their mother, and gratefully sensible
of all the care and trouble she has had on their
account." Of his son, the Dauphin, the king said:
"Should he ever have the misfortune to be king, ...
he ought to sacrifice every thing to the happiness of
his fellow citizens." Louis's successor, Napoleon, left
a testament instructing his son to take up the motto
"Everything for the French people."

In our time, the bequests of values as well as
valuables are memorialized in what have become
known as ethical wills. Books and Web sites offer
suggestions for them. Such wills might contain
stories of the deceased's childhood, lists of favorite
foods or vacation sites, an outline of spiritual beliefs,
suggestions for how to live well, or a catalogue of
mistakes made and to be avoided by heirs. Modern
will writers may also do something that unites leaving
tangible items and intangible values: a bequest
to a charity.

Brewer said that colonial will writers occasionally
gave money to charity schools, such as the
one for Indians in Williamsburg, "or for a sermon
to be given annually on the date of their death in
perpetuity." In 1645, Richard Vaughan of Virginia
bequeathed half-a-ton of tobacco "towarde the building
a howse for gods service." Ebenezer Wells of
Deerfield, Massachusetts, who died in 1758, specified in his will that the Church of Christ in his town
should receive a "good silver tankard." He directed
his executors to see to the drinking vessel's creation
and presentation. In Surry County, Virginia, an
Episcopal church benefited from the 1764 bequest of
Elizabeth Stith, who gave £50 "to purchase an Alter
piece...I would have Moses and Aaron drawn at
full length holding up between them the Ten commandments."
If there was money left over, she asked
it to be spent for "the Lord's prayer in a small Fraim"
and the Apostles' Creed in another.

Benjamin Franklin bequeathed money and possessions
to colleges, schools, and the "building of
churches." Some of his books went to the Philosophical
Society of Philadelphia, the American
Philosophical Society, and the Library Company
of Philadelphia. In addition, "one hundred pounds
sterling" was given to free schools in Boston. His uncollected
debts, some decades old, were passed to the
Pennsylvania Hospital, "hoping, that those debtors,
and the descendants of such as are deceased ...may
...be induced to pay."

James Lewis Macie, an English scientist born
illegitimately in France in 1765, consulted the book
Plain Advice to the Public to Facilitate the Making of
Their Own Wills. It came with "forms of wills, simple
and elaborate." By the time he died in Italy in 1829,
Macie had adopted the surname of his father, Hugh
Smithson, the first Duke of Northumberland. As
James Smithson, he left the bulk of his estate to his
nephew—with the proviso that "In the case of the
death of my said Nephew without leaving a child,
...I then bequeath the whole of my property ...to
the United States of America, to found at Washington,
under the name of the Smithsonian Institution, an Establishment
for the increase & diffusion of knowledge
among men." The nephew died childless, and more
than $500,000 came to America as seed money for what
is now a network of museums.

The obverse of generosity to schools, churches,
and other charities was the treatment of slaves as
property that could be left to heirs or disposed of,
as exemplified in the 1719 will of Orlando Jones
of Williamsburg, who was Martha Washington's
grandfather. He gave his son and daughter more
than a dozen slaves "forever." In her 1781 will, Ann
Temple of King William County, Virginia, passed
along to her granddaughters "my negroe boy Platoe,"
"my negroe wench Alice," "my negroe girl Betty,"
and "my negroes Juno, Luvina & Patience." In the
1786 will of Peter Randolph of Sussex County, Virginia,
after commending his "soul to God who gave it
me," he directed "that my negro man Archer," three
horses, and a dozen sheep "be sold to discharge my
debts."

The last testaments of the early citizens of
Williamsburg provide details about how they lived
and who owned what. After someone died, a court
appointed three people—usually neighbors—to inventory
and appraise the deceased's property to determine
the departed's wealth. The 1772 inventory
of merchant Joseph Scrivener's estate tells Colonial
Williamsburg historians he possessed such items as
four casks of vinegar, a copper kettle, a broken mirror,
150 bushels of coal, and "1 plain gold watch."
When the Virginia Gazette reported that items from
Scrivener's estate would be sold, the newspaper
catalogued "four valuable Negroes, a cart and five
horses, a riding chair and his house and lot." Similarly,
John Stott, a Williamsburg watchmaker, left
an estate in 1748 that included five bedsteads, seven
tables, chairs, a corner cupboard, a desk, two clocks,
two looking glasses, pictures, brass andirons, seven
candlesticks, books, china, earthenware, stoneware,
pewter, two wigs, and his watchmaking tools.

Modern wills benefit Colonial
Williamsburg another way: through legacies
that have provided funds for preservation
of the historic town. Ken Wolfe, director of
planned giving, said that visitors see the generosity
of their predecessors. "Bequests of objects and
antiques are the most visible things," he said, "but,
in a sense, everything at Colonial Williamsburg is
helped by bequests." He ticked off several examples:
more than 1,000 pieces of rare Sheffield plate silver,
collections of early American furniture, a bequest to
fund the re-creation of eighteenth-century wallpaper, and a legacy to pay for expert speakers to come
to Williamsburg.

Gifts sometimes come from surprising sources,
Wolfe said, such as a California visitor who came
to Virginia once or twice and was so impressed that
he left $1 million to the restored town. A retired
educator who lived in a modest home in Michigan, a
recent widow, wrote a letter in 1980 to ask how she
could leave her estate to Colonial Williamsburg. She
wrote, "I believe strongly in its purpose" and loved
its "authenticity and charm," which she and her late
husband had enjoyed during visits in the 1960s.
When she died in 1994, Colonial Williamsburg received
nearly $2.7 million. "She was a saver, not
a spender," Wolfe said, "and she had a passion for
Williamsburg."

He comes across emotional attachments when
talking to people about bequests. "They consider
Williamsburg a part of their family," Wolfe said. As
they age, "They ask themselves what their legacy
will be and reflect on their values. They have a belief
in the ideas and ideals behind the founding of the
country. Their first visit is often transformational;
it bowls them over. They come in school groups, or
they honeymoon here, or their parents brought them
and now they bring their own children. Part of it is
the place, and part is the people, even the staff in
the hotels. Other historic sites are much more static,
while we keep changing and evolving. That keeps us
vibrant in people's minds."

Through their lists of property and goods, wills
are expressions of material wealth. But those often
come alongside statements of humility that may
have been occasioned by open graves yawning before
the signatories. Perhaps no one was ever more
ready to shake off the vain honors of mortal life than
Francis Fauquier, a beloved lieutenant governor
of Virginia who died at the Governor's Palace in
Williamsburg in 1768. In his will, he refers to "the
uninformed Mass of Clay" that will remain after his
soul has returned "into the Hands of a most Merciful
and benevolent God." If he dies of "any latent
disease," the governor ordered the physicians who
treated him to open his body so "that the immediate
cause of my disorder may be known, and that by
these means I may become more useful to my fellow
Creatures by my Death than I have been in my life."
After the surgeons were done with his "unfeeling
Carcass," Fauquier requested that it be "Deposited
in the Earth or Sea as I shall happen to fall, without
any vain Funeral Pomp and as little expence as Decency
can possibly permit."